Rhaego: Brother to Dragons
by LostCriesofTime
Summary: Daenerys had a choice to make: the love of her life or the unborn future of House Targaryen? What if she had never put her son's life on the line for Khal Drogo? What kind of life would the two of them have as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as the Queen on the Iron Throne with her young son Rhaego to rule beside her?
1. Prologue

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

* * *

_**Prologue**_

* * *

He had led her out into the peace and quiet of the mountainside while the moon shone majestically overhead, illuminating their path and bathing them in a faint, silvery light. As they trotted along in silence she stroked the mare, a wedding gift which had delighted her just hours ago, in a desperate attempt to calm her nerves and quieten her heart as it thumped violently against her ribcage.

This was it, this man-creature was about to claim her as his own by taking her virginity and possessing her body in the same way she had seen the other violent, vulgar creatures do to the women of their tribe in the wedding rituals earlier that day. As an observer she had felt sickened at the sight of such degrading acts, now she would be a participant and she was afraid.

Would it hurt? Would she disgrace herself with undignified cries? Would he care?

She stared at the muscle knotted back riding on the stallion before her and knew that, if he needed to, he could force her. He was a strong man, the finest warrior among his tribe and with his symbolic uncut hair he commanded the unwavering respect of his Khalasar; such status was not achieved by being gentle or unwilling to take what was wanted by force. She, by contrast, was a thirteen year old girl, petite in frame and gentle by nature. What chance would she even stand?

"_I gladly would let the whole Dothraki tribe rape you if it got me back my crown, little sister…"_ she shivered remembering her brother's words. She would find no aid from her King if she did struggle against this union.

She was a young girl, lost and alone in the hands of destiny. Her family had been overthrown in a bloody battle in the weeks before she had even been born, her mother had died as Daenerys entered the world, she had been raised on foreign soil and weaned on stories of the Targaryen's former greatness and now she was being thrown to the mercy of a man who seemed to her to be more of a barbarian than respectable potential ally to the Iron Throne. In this moment, as the fear of what Khal Drogo was about to do overwhelmed her, she felt utterly powerless.

_No!_ a voice suddenly cried in her head, revealing for the first time an assertiveness she had never been aware of as it bubbled up to the surface in fiery rebellion_. I am the daughter and granddaughter of Queens, heir to the great line of Targaryen. I am not powerless, I am Daenerys Stormborn_.

Her bright violet eyes blazed as she began to hold her chin up high._ That's right, I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen and I will meet this fate with dignity and pride, as is right for a woman of my lineage_, she decided at that moment. _I will not cower like a child any longer, tonight I become a woman and a Queen_.

Moments later Khal Drogo directed his horse to stop at a breathtaking location overlooking the sea. His eyes met hers expectantly and with great control she did not drop her gaze but stared directly into his eyes as she dismounted with a dignity she had not known she possessed.

It was time.

He slowly circled her, his eyes taking in each detail of her appearance; from the way the wind whipped the material of her dress softly about her curves to the stray strands of hair playing before her eyes.

"No," he whispered as he tucked the stray hairs gently behind her ears.

Daenerys found herself momentarily caught off guard at the soft tone in his voice and the warmth in his eyes.

He circled her some more, gently exploring her body with his rough, callused hands. The sensation was unusual but not at all unpleasant. She looked down at the ground around her feet as she felt a blush creep up on her cheeks.

"No," he whispered again as he took her chin in his hand and tilted it up to face him, gazing intensely into her wide, doe like eyes with an expression she had never seen before.

Then he slowly removed the straps of her dress from her shoulders, causing the flimsy material to flutter lightly to the ground at her ankles.

She had promised herself that when this moment came she would not cower away like a child, yet standing before this man naked made her feel so vulnerable that for a moment she forgot herself and, by instinct, covered up her breasts and private region with her arms. Protecting herself.

A slight frown crossed the Khal's face as he wrapped his large hands around her small wrists and gently pried them away. "No," he admonished as he took in the sight of her standing naked before him.

She gasped and as he began to relieve himself of clothes the panic which she had so valiantly fought down began to take hold of her once more.

"_I am a Queen,"_ she tried to tell herself sternly as she watched him pull down his loin cloth, yet this no longer reassured her. Despite her desperate attempt to meet this man with the fierce honour expected of a Targaryen, she was horrified to find tears escaping and running down her cheeks as she thought of what was about to happen. What he would do to her.

He stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes as the tears streaked down her face. Another frown creased his brow as he reached out his thumb to carefully wipe away the streaks of water from her soft skin.

"No," he whispered sadly, shaking his head at her fear. He wished he could better communicate to her that he did not want to harm her.

He took her soon after that and while it was slightly uncomfortable and painful at times, he was not anywhere near as rough as the men she had witnessed from his tribe at their wedding feast. In fact, he had been gentle and caring throughout the entire ordeal, shocking her with his concern.

And it was done. She was now no longer the fearful and unsure young girl who had been so easily dominated by her brother, but a woman and a Queen.

The fire in her belly had been awoken and it promised to engulf all of the seven kingdoms before it was through.

House Targaryen was not so easily broken.

* * *

**_A/N~ Thanks so much for reading guys._**  
**_This is my first ever fanfiction piece so any feedback on what I could do to improve would be so much appreciated!_**


	2. Shekh ma Shieraki anni

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_..._

Just wanted to say sorry I took forever to update. I took some time to learn a little Dothraki because I wanted to use it here to show the stilted progress of the relationship and communication between Daenerys and Drogo in the beginning.  
(If I got any of it wrong or slightly off then please let me know, I'm not at all confident with using it but figured I'd rather just update that wait to get proficient.)

* * *

_**Chapter one:  
**__Shekh Ma Shieraki Anni - My Sun and Stars_

* * *

At first it had been difficult adapting to her new life, but Daenerys had grown so much in the past few weeks. While she had initially struggled to cope with the saddle sores as they popped and oozed down her legs, so painful and debilitating, as well as the general physical demands, now she found she was growing accustomed to life on the move. At the side of her Khal she was blossoming into a fearsome and passionate Khalessi; embracing her status as the Queen among these strange and proud warriors by enlisting the help of her maids Jhiqui and Irri to teach her the Dothraki language and way of life.

Her thighs ached from so much time spent in the saddle and her once soft, delicate hands were now forming calluses as she was determined to throw herself in to the lifestyle of these people, everything from learning to set up her own tent to training to wield an arakh. If she was to have authority in more than just name, if she was to become more than just the lead whore in this society, she had to come to understand their ways. She would earn their respect and loyalty, not just expect it in the way that her brother seemed to.

"And when the Khal rides into battle, it is customary to say _Shieraki gori ha yeraan_," Jhiqui was explaining as Daenerys tried her best to concentrate. "It means 'the stars charge for you'," the young slave girl clarified as she noticed her mistress's glazed over expression.

Daenerys nodded absently and attempted a smile to reassure her servant, whose eyes now brimmed with concern.

"Khaleesi," she laid a hand gently on Daenery's shoulder, "is everything okay? You look a little pale..er than usual."

Truth be told Daenerys had been feeling strange all morning, refusing to eat and snapping at her unfortunate maid Doreah after the girl suggested they resume their lessons on the womanly arts of love. Very out of character. It was strange, she had always been the picture of health, never having a day of illness as a child, yet today she felt sick to her stomach.

The world swayed briefly and her insides lurched.

"Khalessi?" Jhiqui was now crouched by her side, examining her clammy forehead with gentle fingers and shouting to the other maids for cold water and a bucket.

The bucket arrived moments too late.

Daenerys bent over and threw up violently, gasping for breath between sobs as her three maids soothed her, offering sips of water to the girl during breaks in her retches.

After several minutes her head cleared and her insides seemed to settle. In a desperate attempt to regain her former dignity Daenerys sat up straight, wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and gave Jhiqui a faint smile.

"'The stars charge for you'," she mused quietly as her maids settled around her, "how elegant."

And with that her lesson continued.

* * *

She was pregnant, there was no doubt about it now.

Daenerys placed her right hand over her small belly in awe, the reality that there was a budding life in there hadn't quite sunk in yet.

Had she still been in Westeros a giant celebration would have been in order, with all of the important families travelling from far and wide to pay their respects to the unborn Targaryen she was carrying. There would be nights of feasting and dancing, silk gowns twirling around beautiful, well brought up maidens as they flirted with the well mannered gentlemen of the court. There would be days of jousting and hunting, prizes won and honours given and endless gifts presented, laid at her feet for her child. Poems would be composed for them, plays written, people scrambling to steal a glance at their young, beautiful and fertile queen. All the things she had heard about only from stories told to her for as long as she could remember, stories of the life she was born to and torn from. Stories of the greatest of dynasties, the rule of the House of Dragons. She would have been glorified and praised by the masses, adored and revered by the people who would have felt secure knowing that there was an heir to the Iron Throne. She would have stood beside her husband, most likely a male relative of the highest status, well brought up and educated, and together they would have gazed over their kingdom as it danced away before them like clockwork, ticking to their will.

That was what it was to be Dragonborn.

She felt the fire kindling inside of her as she dwelt on the birthright which had been stolen from her and her child to come.

Bile then rose in her throat as Daenerys allowed her thoughts to drift to her mother.

She wondered whether such a feast had been thrown when her own existence had become known to her family. Had they celebrated lavishly, despite the tense political situation? Had it provided a reprieve from the warmongering of the lesser families? Had the Kingslayer come to pay his respects before he destroyed all that the Targaryens had built for the kingdom?

Had there been quails eggs and pigeon pies, roasted peacock and duck, jellies and sweetmeats?

Had her mother laughed with joy and naive hope as she felt the kick of unborn life in her womb?

Or had she known nothing but fear as events unfolded around her, as the darkness crept in and death snapped at their heels?

Her poor mother. It was for her sake that Daenerys had done all of this. She could have crawled into anonymity years ago for a quiet life, but to do so would have meant her mother's sacrifice would be for nothing as the usurpers would have won. Unacceptable.

So instead she had been married off to a man she had feared, been raised to the rank of Khaleesi of a people she had known nothing about and now conceived a child to continue the family name. Westeros would once more know their true king and Daenerys would not die before she saw the traitors who now draped her family's throne burnt to dust, their names thrown to the wind to be forgotten, scattered by the sands of time into insignificance as her family rose from the ashes to a blazing glory once more. Fire does not kill dragons, it only rekindles their strength to bring them back stronger than ever before.

Fire and blood.

Such thoughts brought her back to the situation she was now in. She was no Princess in the halls of King's Landing, sweeping through luxurious rooms to be waited on hand and foot. She was the Khaleesi of a large Khalasar, a warrior queen. A far cry from the comforts of 'home', yet fast becoming a home of sorts, such was the absurdity of the Game of Thrones that a pure blood royal could make a life among savages. Viserys believed this to be an unjust punishment, but Daenerys chose to see it as an opportunity.

However, there were times when the allure of the life that they had lost was strong.

For example, in a sharp contrast to the genteel celebrations of Westeros, the Dothraki tradition when discovering you are pregnant was somewhat different, somewhat more... _Dothraki_. Daenerys had recently discovered, when Irri had warned her, that she would be expected to eat the raw heart of a stallion in a ceremony which would foretell the fate of the young warrior she was nurturing inside her and give him a beast's strength. Once such a thought would have disgusted her to her very core, but now as Khaleesi she would devour that heart with spirit and make her Khal proud to call her the mother of his child. To disgrace him in the eyes of his people was not an option.

Yet she could not deny that jousting matches and night-long dances held more of an attraction for her than uncooked animal organs ever could.

It was sometimes good to remind herself of what she fought for.

"Jalan atthirari anni," came a gruff voice from the tent's entrance as her husband threw aside the material covering the 'doorway' and strode up to her, gazing intently into her shimmering violet eyes. In private he had recently taken to calling her by the affectionate Dothraki term which translated as 'moon of my life' and was reserved for intimate lovers, another aspect of how he treated her that had been a shock to her expectations.

"Shekh ma shieraki anni," she answered as she smiled up at his stern face, catching the expression of tenderness in his eyes and blushing as he slowly stroked her jawline, the rough pads of his fingers sending shivers across her skin.

This had been the first Dothraki phrase she had learnt, eager to respond to Khal Drogo's use of such intimate terms. It meant 'my sun and stars' and Daenerys found it to be a most beautiful sentiment, so poetic for a nomadic warrior's tongue. In fact, she was beginning to realise that she had underestimated and misjudged the Dothraki quite considerably; the more she learnt the more she saw that there was real beauty to be found what had first appeared to be, to her, a barbaric and primitive culture.

Jhiqui stepped forward to act as translator between husband and wife, as Khal Drogo began to speak.

_"I teach you more bow and arrow shooting now,"_ his voice was low, almost a growl and he made the Dothraki syllables sound even harsher than normal. He then dropped the hand which was caressing her abruptly, spun on his heel and left, expecting her to follow.

Which she did, eager to learn a new skill.

As she walked outside, through the sea of tents and people, she was conscious of many pairs of dark eyes following her. The Dothraki appraised her openly, curious to see how a foreigner was adapting to their rigorous lifestyle and demands. She knew she had a way to go before she was respected in her own right, but if she was honest with herself she was relishing stepping up to the challenge as well as experiencing the freedom of their ways, which would no doubt win her more favour than her poor, stubborn brother.

She wished Viserys would join her in opening his mind to these new experiences too. But she knew more than anyone how arrogant he could be and she was beginning to worry more and more that it would be his undoing. There had been a time, before marrying Khal Drogo, when she had never questioned her brother's rightful place as ruler and king, but now as she observed him more closely she had to admit he was volatile and not particularly skilled or inspiring as a leader.

Khal Drogo walked silently ahead of her as she became lost in her own thoughts, until they found themselves in a meadow of sorts far away from the sounds and smells of the camp. Then he held a hand out to stop her, pointing to a tree roughly eighty meters away from where they stood.

"Ovvethas rekke feshith," he commanded, speaking slowly and using simple Dothraki terms which she was started to become familiar with. _Shoot that tree,_ yes she could do that.

She nodded and raised her chin, taking the offered bow and arrow from him and arranging her body into the stance she had been shown in their last session: feet apart, stomach held in, body side on to the target. She could feel his gaze boring in to her while she was threading the arrow and taking aim. Under his scrutiny she suddenly felt foolish and clumsy in her attempts to hold the large bow in position. What was she playing at? She was no warrior.

_But I will be soon_, the voice in her head rang out fiercely as she gritting her teeth and focussing all of her energy on the target before her.

She drew back the taunt string of the bow, aiming the arrow as accurately as she could before releasing it.

To her horror the arrow managed about three or four feet before landing unceremoniously among a patch of clover. Her face grew bright red and she dropped her gaze, ashamed to look upon the face of her husband after such a failure.

To her surprise he began to laugh, walking casually over to pick up the arrow before presenting it to her once more with a gleam in his eyes.

"Kijinosos, lajaki" he patted her cheek tenderly, "vitisheras." _Not like that, little warrior, observe_.

She smiled at the note of pride in his voice as he called her lajaki, _little warrior_, and made a mental note of his every movement as he positioned himself ready to fire. She was not surprised when his arrow hit the tree directly in the centre of its trunk, she expected nothing less from the Khal himself.

_Not impressed,_ the voice once more interjected and she startled herself with what she did next.

"No," she crossed her arms and stared up at him, shaking her head slowly. She wanted to see better than that, she knew he had more to offer, that hitting a tree trunk at eighty meters was no test of his skills. She instead pointed to a small apple in the tree twenty meters further behind their target. "Hit that apple," she said as clearly as she could, making her meaning obvious by including gestures.

"Qazer?" he raised an eyebrow and smirked at her, causing her heart to skip a beat, pointing to the ripe red fruit hanging from the tree.

"Yes, hit that _qazer,_" she nodded, raising an eyebrow in return as she sounded out the unfamiliar Dothraki word on her tongue. She was challenging him with a twinkle in her eyes which delighted him.

He grunted as if such an easy thing were beneath him, but positioned another arrow anyway. Taking aim and firing, she watched as the arrow split the apple in half, flying directly through the middle in an impressive feat of marksmanship. Her eyes widened slightly and he grinned over his shoulder at her.

"Chek," (_good_) he muttered nonchalantly to himself as he handed her the bow.

She did not get any where near the target that day. Or the next. It was only on the third day that she finally hit the illusive tree, barely believing her eyes as the arrow embedded itself into the bark.

She had looked to her instructor with wide eyes and been shocked to see a giant, proud smile on his face. Just for a second.

"Chek," he nodded gruffly to her after regaining composure. He then had her repeat her success over and over again until he was satisfied her shot had not been a lucky accident.

_You may make a Khaleesi out of me, yet,_ she thought happily.

She felt a stirring in his stomach as the kindles grew.

* * *

A month or so later, once she had become more confident speaking Dothraki, she finally told him that she was pregnant with his child while they lay curled up on their futon together. The proud smile which he had greeted her with upon her archery success was nothing compared to the reaction this news brought out.

_"Moon of my life,"_ he cried, drawing her into an embrace in his powerful arms. _"We will soon have a son!"_

_"A strong warrior, like his father."_ she nodded, smiling as he laid a hand over her stomach in wonder.

_"Our_ Khalakka_,"_ (_prince_) he murmured softly.

She nodded and placed her hand on top of his. _Shekh ma shieraki anni, I think I am falling in love with you..._

The two of them lapsed into silence as they began to imagine the future they would carve for their unborn child and when sleep finally embraced them it was filled with dreams of the possibilities now opening before them.

In the corner of the room on the surface of the dressing table the three dragon eggs began to glow slightly as the dragons inside stirred. Daenerys felt a strange sensation as the child inside her also stirred, eager to unite with his brothers.

_"Our time approaches, little brother,"_ the voices touched his mind as he settled. _"We will soon be birthed through blood and fire."_

* * *

**_A/N~ Thanks so much for reading guys._**  
**_This is my first ever fanfiction piece so any feedback on what I could do to improve would be so much appreciated!_**


	3. Jalan Atthirari Anni

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

* * *

_**Chapter two:  
**__Jalan Atthirari Anni - Moon of my Life_

* * *

As he trained, swinging the arakh in a fluid and deadly motion as if it were an extension of his own limbs, his mind wandered. His muscles stretched taunt and the beat of his heart thrummed life into his veins as his body rehearsed the familiar movements and his mind wandered a well worn path. He was to be a father and he could not be more proud. The reality had not yet sunk in and every time he thought of starting a family with his woman, each time he pictured returning from a raid to the sight of her tender face singing to their baby as they fell asleep or lovingly bathing them as they wriggled and shrieked, his chest tightened and soared with elation.

Sweat snaked its way down his back as the heavy sun beat its rays against him, pushing him to train harder, to push past the boundaries of his endurance. He swung the blade and was satisfied to hear the rush of noise as he sliced through the very air. He knew he was a great warrior; possessing the skill and experience as well as the fury in his veins, not to be called upon lightly, that brought him respect from all those around him. Other powerful Khals would see his uncut hair and dip their heads in awe. He was a beast in the body of a man, a true blooded Stallion.

Yet he knew with certainty that his son would be a far greater warrior than he.

He pushed his muscles further as the pain seared through them. It was the good pain, the pain that foretold progress as he once more cut down those barriers of the body's limitations. Sweat stung his eyes and he shook his head, ceasing his training ritual for less than a second and never losing focus. The fire in his veins invigorated him as his muscles screamed out against such treatment and the waves of adrenaline washed over him.

By the time he had finished he wanted nothing more than his Khaleesi and felt a moment's satisfaction knowing that she would want him too.

An even greater fire ran through her veins.

* * *

His Khaleesi had stared up into his eyes with a fierce determination which quickened his bloodbeat, her eyes burning into his as she devoured the large, raw heart in her hands. Truth be told, when he had first married this woman before him, from time to time he had worried that she was not true Khaleesi material, that she would not be able to adapt to the expectations of life in the Khalasar. Yet slowly he had come to see that beneath the frail exterior bubbled a powerful warrior who had been just waiting to break out.

His woman would be underestimated no more, with each ripped away mouthful she took, with each blood splattering that ran down her chin, she was showing the members of her Khalasar, and him, that she had the true spirit of the Dothraki. Although he had known this for a while his blood still pounded with pride renewed as he watched her.

Only a few more chunks to go.

His eyes had never left hers as he had known this would be difficult for her, so different from her own traditions.

Then, for a moment it looked as if she was close to gagging on the flesh as she tried to force it down. He stared at her even more intently, his eyes boring into hers as he willed his strength into her soul. _Come on, my little warrior!_ he fought down the urge to shout, drawing his eyebrows together as she struggled.

_I don't need your strength My Sun and Stars,_ her eyes flashed proudly as she successfully composed herself and took the last few mouthfuls in one vicious bite. She flicked him a small smile and the sight of her with a chin covered in blood, teeth stained red and eyes fierce aroused him greatly. His Khaleesi, how could he have ever underestimated her, she was a dragon who danced among mortals. She was fire, he could not tame or control her. He had truly chosen well.

She raised her chin and met the eyes of those around her, her people, victoriously as the Dosh Khaleen made their prediction of the child.

Drogo tore his attention away from her for a moment, eager to hear news of their unborn. Would it be a son? Even if it wasn't, he would still enjoy training a girl to greatness, to be as strong and wild as her mother, the Moon of his Life. Whatever they had, Drogo knew in that moment he would be proud.

"As swift as the wind he rides, and behind him his Khalasar covers the earth, men without number, with arakhs shining in their hands like blades of razor grass. Fierce as a storm this prince will be. His enemies will tremble before him, and their wives will weep tears of blood and rend their flesh in grief. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and the milk men in the stone tents will fear his name." The members of the dosh khaleen trembled as they spoke and Drogo noticed some glanced at his Khaleesi as if they were afraid. "The prince is riding, and he shall be the Stallion Who Mounts the World."

There was silence in the tent as the words reverberated and died away, their meaning left to sink in.

Khal Drogo felt his head reel at such news. His own son was the prophesied leader of all Dothraki? Yet it made sense, when you mate a Stallion with a Dragon you do not bring forth cattle.

He stared down at his woman once more and saw the same conclusion touch her mind. They both rose slowly, he walked over to her side and lay a hand over her slight bumb, feeling a thrumming beneath his fingers as if the life inside could feel the atmosphere and was responding eagerly.

"Khalakka anni," _(my prince)_ he whispered, tears pricking his eyes at the raw power of such a moment.

"Rai!" _(hurrah!)_ the voices of the members of his trusted Khasar broke the spell and reminded him of where he was. The shout was met with a gradually growing response from the people present, soon forming a chant as his whole Khalasar erupted with cheers, celebrating and revering his unborn son; The Stallion Who Mounts the World.

He held his Khaleesi's tiny, white hand in his and raised it above their heads to a fierce roar from their people.

"We shall call him Rhaego," she whispered softly so that only he could hear. He sounded out the name in his head, it was strong and while it meant nothing in Dothraki he was sure it held some significance for his woman by the way her eyes shone as she suggested it. Very well, Rhaego it was. He nodded down at her and she smiled, turning to the people to announce their decision.

His bloodrate soared as his Khalasar took up the chant of his son's name. "Rhaego! Rhaego!" they cried, loud enough to shake dust.

It was only out of the corner of his eye, as he picked up and swung his wife in the air, that he saw the snake-like brother of hers, Viserys, stalk out of the tent. To his relief he saw Jorah the Andal follow close at heel. He had grown to respect the milk-pale warrior and trusted him to keep a close eye out for trouble.

For now all Drogo wanted to do was hold his wife.

"Moon of my life," he whispered gruffly as he held he against him. "This day you have made me truly proud."

* * *

Yet the night of festivities and merriment was soon interrupted by that snake who called himself a dragon, Viserys. He had tried to steal his woman's precious dragon eggs and run but Jorah the Andal had stopped him and now it was Drogo's decision of how to act.

The solution came to him as he saw the worm shouting at his Khaleesi, disrespecting the mother of his child, the Moon of his Life, in front of their tribe. Drogo had beaten men to death for less. The only reason he had not come to blows with the snake before now was out of respect and affection for Daenerys herself, but this was the limit - he would give no further.

However, Drogo was a man of honour and would not contemplate going back on his word. A queen for a crown, he knew such a deal had been more than worth while each night as he looked down on her face, but it did tie his hands at this moment. _Or did it?_ A thought came to him then, watching the weak-hearted creature accost his Queen. He had promised a crown and a crown he would give. A slow smile crept across his face as he strode forward towards the Targaryen siblings.

He barked swift orders to his servants in preparation.

His eyes were cold and dark as he addressed his brother in law and he could tell by her body language that his Khaleesi sensed there was menace in his words as he pacified her elder brother with the promise of a final fulfilment of his vow. The fact that she did not stop him eased his mind, he had the go-ahead from his beloved to act. If she had asked him to stop, even with no more than a plea in her eyes, he would have.

But this would be so much more satisfying.

Moments later as he led Viserys, now amiable and chatting enthusiastically, to the chair he found his bloodrate surging in anticipation. Not until now had he realised just how much he wanted to get rid of the milk-pale pest. His eyes gleamed as he was handed the bucket of liquid hot gold, fit for a King.

He could not help glancing back at his woman, just for a moment, and took in the way her eyes widened in understanding. If she wanted to put a stop to this she had better act now. He hesitated for a beat, just long enough for her to intervene. She did not. She merely observed with curious interest.

So be it.

The screams as Viserys felt the first lick of flames and drops of fire touch his skin were piercing. Two strong men held him down as Drogo himself poured the molten metal over his face, watching with interest as the metal seeped into his ears and eyes, remoulding all in its path, and the pale skin curled up and singed with acrid smoke. The smell turned his stomach as the flesh was burnt before his eyes, not the most pleasant of sights but one which he would lose no sleep over.

Once it was done and the crown had cooled over the deformed face of the still corpse, Daenerys approached him quietly and sighed.

"He was not a true dragon," she muttered, bemused. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

He said nothing but felt the need to comfort her somehow so reached out a tentative hand and placed it protectively over her belly. Under his hand he felt a powerful beat, similar to the war drums which some tribes favoured, coming from within. "He stirs," Drogo whispered in awe, catching his woman's eye.

She nodded. "He has been thrashing about like a dragon ever since you began the 'coronation'," when she held her chin up there was a spark in her eyes that had not been there before. "He is eager to join us, My Sun and Stars, and this scene has just quickened his need. He must be a true Targaryen, to be moved so by a scene of blood and fire."

"A true Dragon," Drogo agreed.

After that eventful interlude the festivities continued, although Drogo did note that his wife's heart was no longer in it. Snake or not, Viserys had been blood of her blood and it was only because of this that he ordered a respectful, proper Dothraki burial the next morning. Because he loved her.

The Moon of his Life.

* * *

**_A/N~ I know that this prophesy is not actually about Rhaego in the books, I myself subscribe to the theory it is about Daenerys herself, yet in the Dothraki culture they are sexist and do not see what is right before their eyes. "Fierce as a storm this prince will be"? Sound like any one we know? Aside from 'prince' of course, as it is later pointed out this is a flaw in translation from the original Valerian where it could just as easily refer to a 'princess', so I'm pretty sure this refers to our Stormborn Khaleesi. But for the sake of the story please lets just go along with the more straightforward (although not as interesting) theory that it was actually about Rhaego._**

**_Or maybe I will still make it about Daenerys... :}_**


	4. Interlude: A Dance of Dreams

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

Please bear with me for this chapter as I just wanted to insert a dream as a way to diverge from canon. It will be this dream that provides the fork in the road and essentially allows Daenerys to make an informed (ish) decision when given the chance to use black magic to save Khal Drogo.

* * *

_**Slight Interlude:  
**__A Dance of Dreams_

* * *

_For a moment the winds howled and raged, laced with shards of sand that brushed her face as she blinked to protect her eyes. _

_When she opened them again she was in a large, red bricked room which she felt should have been familiar, but it was not. __There before her sat a man with hair, a matching white-gold to her own, that lay about his shoulders as the once more gentle breeze brushed through it and carried the scent of incense and perfume to her nostrils. He turned to her, his eyes mirroring her own and she saw that in his arms lay a newborn child. There was something in his face which drew her, blood calling to blood, and she had to turn away for a second to shield herself from the raw emotions coursing through her veins._

_"Aegon, my son," he whispered with awe as he stroked the boy's face with a long, slender finger. "The Prince that was promised."_

_Her heart tightened as her suspicions were confirmed, this man holding the boy was her late brother Rhaegar. The tender scene before her was bitter-sweet, bile on her tongue, as she knew the truth of that infant's fate. Daenerys shuddered. Slowly, she walked over as the man started to play the harp, a smile on his face as he strummed the sweet, familiar lullaby. She was shocked to see the child's face for he appeared to have Drogo's colouring and fierce eyebrows as well as her platinum hair and violet eyes._

_"Rhaego!" she gasped placing a hand protectively over her stomach.  
_

_The man turned to her once more, his face serene as he held her gaze. "The Prince that was promised," he repeated, never ceasing his lilting melody._

_Then the man before her morphed into her own husband, wielding an arakh in place of the harp. They were now in a wide open field and she stood by a small wooden cot as she watched Drogo swing the blade with practised ease, before laying down the weapon to hover over the crib, his eyes brimming with pride._

_"The Stallion who Mounts the World," he whispered as he reached down to touch the infant, stroking its face with a rough, leathery finger in an uncanny repeat of the man she had watched before. The sight made her blood run cold and she turned to flee, not able to face what her brain was telling her._

_Suddenly this reality was shattered, broken into a thousand fragments of glass, as fragile as the promises that prophesies rode on, and she flinched as it was replaced with an old witch who cackled with glee._

_Images flashed before her eyes and she tried to shy away but could not escape the pieces of the puzzle as they tumbled into her mind._

_An infant smashed against a wall as his brains dripped down to the floor and his cries were silenced; the tears of dragons as the city outside was burned to the ground; the wails of women and children beaten and raped in the streets. A promise broken. Words scattered to the far corners of the earth never to be fulfilled, mocking the willingness of mortals to desperately cling onto what was whispered in the whim of one moment of fate._

_The laughter of the witch echoed around her and she tried to cover her ears but nothing could protect from the haunting sounds. The witch's eyes were shining with madness as she danced around a fire, throwing in small figures and watching them turn to ash. Daenerys recognised the figures and reeled back in horror. The smoke choked her, burning her lungs and bringing tears to her eyes, yet the witch seemed unaffected._

_An infant's wails pierced the cackles as, from the smoke surrounding her, images formed of a dragon mating with a wolf in a frenzy of passion, an age old song of ice and fire, soon giving way to an age old tragedy._

_"Aegon," whispered the voice from before, "The Prince who was promised."_

_"No!" she tried to call, but the winds whipped away her cries as she watched yet again as the child was beaten to death, the sounds of passion coming from the dragon and the wolf drowning out the sounds of the baby as its little fire was extinguished forever._

_Just as she began to calm herself, Daenerys saw the images formed with the witch's smoke blur and when they became clear once more the sight shook her to her very core. For instead of the dragon mating with the wolf, she saw a dragon riding a stallion and the words of her own child's prophesy may as well have took to flames before her._

_"Aegon, my son." the words caressed her as she watched the dragon and stallion in horror, "the Prince who was promised."_

_"The prince is riding, and he shall be the stallion who mounts the world," a dragon with three heads growled as it blew reams of flame towards the image of the stallion, igniting the smoke and surrounding her with a wall of fire that licked at her skin._

_Until all that she was left with was a pile of ashes and smoke and traces of salt on her cheeks where the fire had evaporated her tears._

* * *

Daenerys woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air to quell the feeling of burning in her lungs.

_It was just a dream,_ she told herself, _nothing more._

Yet she could not help the chill that ran down her spine as she pictured the face of the cackling witch or her brother and his child.

"Rhaego," she whispered, clutching at her belly protectively. What if he was destined to be a victim of fate, just like her nephew Aegon? What if it was her love of Drogo which killed him, in the same way her brother's obsession with the Stark girl became a death sentence for his own young family?

She calmed her breathing and stared at the profile of her husband as he lay sleeping, illuminated by the light of the moon. He was handsome and fierce, caring and passionate, a lover and a warrior; he was her Sun and Stars. She loved him.

How could she ever choose between him and the unborn child she carried?

_You are a Targaryen_, the voice inside her spoke with authority, _your son is a Targaryen. Nothing else matters._

She was about to argue, but could not find the words. All she knew was that this time the voice was wrong.

Drogo _did_ matter.

* * *

**A/N~ Sorry this is a short chapter, I just wanted to explore the whole dreams aspect of A Song of Ice and Fire and hope this worked. If you thought it was lame I am sorry, and would happily hear why you thought so as I need to improve, but if you believe it worked then brilliant! I would be very happy to know I've pulled it off okay.**

**Many thanks to those who read this, you guys make my day!**


	5. Vod Chafaan (part one)

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not in any way own Game of Thrones. If I did no Direwolf would have ever been harmed, only people..._

_**Quick Summary:** Daenerys has a choice to make: the love of her life and conqueror of her heart or their unborn child and future of the Targaryens? What if she had never put her unborn son's life on the line for Khal Drogo but had given birth to him, Rhaego the "Stallion who Mounts the World." What kind of life would the two of them had as Daenerys struggles to once more reclaim her rightful place as Queen on the Iron Throne?_

_...  
_

Right, after a trippy dream break we can continue with the action (:  
Sorry I took a while updating, I began work on my LyannaxRhaegar story and neglected this one a little...

* * *

_**Chapter three:  
**__Vod Chafaan - "Dust to the Wind" (R.I.P.) _Part one

* * *

Daenerys walked down the Lhazareen streets, fighting to keep her poise in the face of the angry, accusing eyes of the children and women who watched her every move.

Khal Drogo, fighting to raise finance for her cause, had been victorious and crushed Khal Ogo and his Khalasar into dust beneath their feet, leaving this city of Lhazar defenceless and providing them with a whole array of slaves to trade to fund their war. Her heart should have been surging with pride and elation at such a sight, seeing the faces of all these people they had conquered as invaluable assets to help her regain her name, yet under the gaze of those cold, sullen expressions she felt lost.

If this was the taste of glory, the promised elixir which conquering nations thrived on, it held an after taste which was stale and dry on her tongue.

Seeing her men loot the houses of these "lamb men", as they were referred to among the Dothraki, while the owners tried in vain to resist against such powerful warriors caused her chest to tighten in sympathy. This was not how she had envisioned reclaiming her rightful throne. While she had always known war and politics were far from pleasant, the exploitation of innocents to further her own ends just would not sit well with her.

Interrupting her thoughts, the cries and whimpers of women reached her ears and she paled, eyes darting around to find the source and her instincts screamed at to intervene as she saw the scenes of gang rape in the pens to either side of the road. Young girls and old women, none were exempt. Was this the Dothraki way? Was this what she had unleashed upon these people? Was this the price of her crown?

Anger welled up inside her. _No! I shall not tolerate such behaviour._ The fire inside her lashed out, her eyes blazing with fury as she rushed up to the scene closest to her and held up a hand imperiously. "Stop, these women are not for you," she spoke calmly, with a tone of ice while her soul burned with conviction.

Realising it was them that their Khaleesi was addressing, the group of Dothraki men stopped what they were doing and glared at the intrusion, outraged that this woman did not know her place. What was Khal Drogo thinking allowing her to question their ways in this manner?!

"This is man's war, man must take prize. Khaleesi stays out of this matter," one of the men growled, his eyebrows knit together as he weighed up the tiny female before him. He was slightly surprised to find that, instead of cowering before him like he had expected from such a frail thing, she lifted her chin higher and met his gaze with eyes which spoke of a power and authority that had him bowing his head to her in awe, without even intending to.

"I claim these women as slaves, they belong to me." her voice was as sharp as Valyrian steel. "You shall not touch them."

Hoping to find some sanity in their proud leader where his woman was obviously lacking, the angry riders at once stalked away to where he was sitting several feet away. So agitated over being deprived of their rights by a woman were they, that they found it difficult to put into words just what had happened. Khal Drogo calmed them and wandered back towards his wife with the warriors in tow, hoping to get to the bottom of this issue and resume his own celebrations.

Upon hearing both sides of the story he became annoyed, while he had only engaged in the usual rape of conquered women as a bachelor and did not feel the need nor desire to do so now that he had his Khaleesi, he knew how important such rights were for keeping his men satisfied. To challenge their ability to take the women as they saw fit would be detrimental to the Khalasar's morale.

He was about to dismiss Daenerys' decision with a wave and a swift order for the festivities to continue, maybe explain to her that this was how wars worked and then take her himself as he needed to feel the pleasure of a woman now, as all men did after the heat of a battle.

Yet, as he looked to his young wife and saw the righteous anger for and deep compassion towards the conquered, he could not help but feel surges of admiration that she would fight in this manner for what she felt so strongly about. She gazed up at him, her large violet eyes shimmering with passion, and he could not resist the earnest plea he saw there. If this was what the Moon of his Life asked of him, he would not refuse.

"My Khaleesi speaks true," he declared, much to the surprise and horror of his men. "Do not touch these women. Pay for whores if you are so desperate."

In the next few moments, as he was challenged to a battle by one of the men and severely wounded, all he could see in his mind's eye was the look of pure love in his wife's eyes as he backed her up. Did she not know that he would change the laws of gravity for her, if she asked? He fought and won against the worm who had claimed Drogo was becoming too weak to lead, never seeing his opponent as he cut him down, only seeing her eyes. Her beautiful, exotic violet eyes.

* * *

Daenerys watched in shock as one of Drogo's own men called him incompetent (or rather, he used a not so polite Dothraki term) and claimed he was not fit to rule as he was showing weakness in letting his whore hold too much influence. She seethed, on both of their behalf's, and felt a secret thrill when Drogo began to water the ground with his blood.

As they danced with their blades, hair flying and eyes cold, she felt trapped. Part of her longed to scream, yet a large bubble in her throat choked down any sound she tried to make. Part of her longed to flee as she could not watch her Sun and Stars get injured, yet her limbs would not obey her. She was rooted to the spot, eyes captivated by the poised, skilful way her husband flirted with death at the point of an arakh.

Without knowing it she was holding her breath.

Until something else caught her eye, something which almost made her heart stop and her blood run cold.

The women who she had stopped the men from raping now watched the fight with a small smirk playing about her lips, her eyes dark and sharp as they followed the movements of the fighters. Daenerys had seen that face before, it was the woman from her dream, the cackling witch.

Her head spun and she saw blood, smelt it, could feel it burning her from the inside as it tried to consume her. She could taste it, the metallic flavour as she ate the raw stallion's heart, the bile which rose as she fought it down. She felt Rhaego quicken inside of her, as if screaming and pounding his way out, frantic.

Who was this woman?

She could feel blood licking at her like flames, singeing her skin. It was at this moment that she saw the battle was over, Drogo had won. She felt dizzy with relief, of course he had won, he was her Sun and Stars and his braid had never been cut. Who could challenge him and not be trod into the dirt?

As he turned back to her, an expression in his eyes which washed over her and quickened her bloodbeat, she was shocked to see a large gash across his chest. He had been hit.

She rushed into his arms and he held her close, glaring over her head at all who may also chose to defy him after speaking for his woman. None came forward, he had once more won their respect, but more importantly he had once more won his Khaleesi's heart and for that he would give up his whole Khalasar if he needed to. To give her up was unimaginable.

"You are wounded," she breathed against his chest disjointedly, as if she was struggling to speak out such words.

"A scratch, Moon of my Life," he stroked her hair as the throbs of pain became more prominent now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. _A sign I fought for you,_ he thought with pride, _I shall wear it and remember this day where I honoured my Khaleesi_.

But Daenerys was not convinced. Drogo began leaning more of his weight on her than he ever would usually, his breathing became more laboured and she could feel the warm blood seeping down his chest between them. She began to half lead, half carry him back to their tent causing him to smirk, believing her to have motives of the flesh and she nearly laughed at his priorities. It was slow going but she managed to get him laid out on their bunch of animal skins where she could begin to tend to him. The fact he barely fought back against her fussing over him was a bad sign.

_Maybe among the conquered is a healer_, she thought as she examined his wound and saw that it was festering. This was getting beyond her simple skills and she desperately needed help. She called Irri and Jhiqui and ordered them to ask around among the Lhazar for a skilled healer, promising they and their family would be under her protection from the Dothraki if they assisted her husband.

Minutes later, panting and red in the face, they returned with the woman from earlier, the one from her dream. Daenerys turned to greet them and froze, terror gripping her momentarily as images from that night weeks ago once more bombarded her. The one woman she feared to trust, _this_ was the best healer they could find?!

She realised she was staring with mouth agape when there was no time to be wasted, so she decided to push her thoughts to one side for now and see what this woman could do. While she would be wary around her at all times, she would not prevent her from rendering assistance that could save her husband's life. Although at the first sign of trouble she would burn this Lhazar to death with no hesitation, such was the panic and confusion rushing through her mind that she would order an execution based on a dream.

Because when it came to the safety of her husband and son she would take no chances.

Rhaego kicked violently as she invited the woman to see Drogo's wound and she could have sworn she heard a strange thrumming sound coming from the three dragon eggs in the corner of the room. She frowned, now was not the time to start losing her composure, Drogo needed her at her best, not lost in her own imagination.

"It is badly infected," the woman pronounced, her wild hair and yellowed teeth shining in the light of the candles. "I shall need to apply a paste."

At this moment Qotho, one of Drogo's trusted blood rider, entered the tent in a rage. "I saw this _maegi_ led in here and demand you keep her away from Khal Drogo, she is not fit to kiss his feet!" he snarled, pointing at the woman who met his anger with a calm gaze.

Daenerys felt a shiver up her spine as she heard the woman referred to as a _maegi_, a practitioner of blood magic. It fit in too well with her role in the dream. She almost sided with Qotho, so close to throwing her out of the tent and out of her sight, yet wondered if such actions caused the witch to curse her family, resulting in the dream she had experienced.

Was shunning this woman the foolish mistake the dream warned against? Or was trusting her? She decided to do neither.

"If she can heal him, let her." Daenerys spoke calmly, despite the sound of blood pounding in her ears.

"You're making a mistake!" he growled angrily.

Maybe he was right, she thought as she watched him storm out of her tent, maybe either way was a mistake. She placed a hand protectively over her stomach and watched as the _maegi_ set to work.

Was there any right course of action she could have taken? Maybe she would never know.


End file.
